


Valentine Ambush

by Mice



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Valentines, accidental date, everyone knows her name isn't really anthea, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-13 20:43:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13578576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mice/pseuds/Mice
Summary: There's a dinner and some romance. Neither of them had quite expected it. Anthea, as always, is to blame.





	Valentine Ambush

Greg stood in the doorway of the tiny restaurant, exhausted by his day, but looking forward to Mycroft's company for the evening. They'd never been here before, and it seemed a bit of an unusual choice for their weekly meeting. The room was dim, lit largely by candles, making the dark, polished wood of the floor and the tables look really elegant.

"Your table is this way," the server said, smiling at him. She gestured to the table in the far corner where Mycroft sat, looking vaguely uneasy. Despite the hour, no one else was in the place at all. "Let me take your coat, sir."

"Oh, yeah, sure." Greg shrugged out of it and handed it to her, and she vanished with it. Greg took a seat opposite Mycroft. 

Mycroft hesitated for a moment before he spoke. "I do apologize for the venue, Gregory."

Puzzled, Greg shook his head. "Apologize? Why? I mean, it's …" He looked around more carefully, taking in the atmosphere, the flowers on the table, and the quiet music. "Mycroft, is this supposed to be a _date_? I mean, this looks… romantic? I didn't think you went for that." The idea didn't bother him, but he was confused as hell, as he'd never really thought Mycroft was one to be interested in anybody, much less some ordinary bloke like him.

Mycroft sighed and covered his eyes with one hand for a moment. "I believe we were entrapped by my PA, actually," he said. "When I arrived a few minutes ago and saw the setting, I realized the significance of today's date."

"Today's --" Greg pulled out his phone and looked at the date. "It's the 14th."

"Of February."

Greg blinked and the light suddenly went on. "Christina set us up on a valentine's date."

Mycroft looked up at him over the hand covering his face. "Apparently so. Should you wish to change venues--"

Greg shook his head. "No, no, there's no need to do that. I mean, this looks like a perfectly decent place otherwise, after all. Considering the date, we'd have a hell of a time trying to get a table somewhere else without a reservation." 

"That's true." Mycroft tilted his head slightly. "If you're certain this isn't objectionable."

"Nah." Greg shook his head. "I mean, I really kind of wouldn't mind if it _were_ a date, but the whole valentine's thing is a bit over the top." He looked at the distinct lack of menu on the table. "Did she not bring us a menu before she took my coat away?"

"I believe tonight they have a fixed menu for us. I didn't inquire because I thought you'd prefer to find another restaurant." Mycroft gave a pensive look at the kitchen door, then turned his attention back to Greg. "Am I given to understand that the only thing that puts you off about this is the idea that I might not be interested in a date with you?"

Greg shrugged. "That's about the size of it. I mean, I understand you're not. Just saying."

Mycroft's face wrinkled into a thoroughly confounded expression. "Why would you imagine I'd not be interested?"

"Wait. You mean… you _are_?" Greg stared at Mycroft, astonished.

"I can't believe you've never seen yourself in a mirror," Mycroft grumbled. "How in god's name do you shave every morning?"

Greg sighed and shook his head, chuckling. "I had no idea you might fancy me."

"I had no idea you might be open to my fancying you." Mycroft raised an eyebrow at him.

"Sounds like we're even, then." Greg shrugged and grinned at him.

Mycroft leaned back in his chair, smiling at Greg. "I may be forced to contemplate a bonus on Christina's next paycheck."

"You should. She's apparently smarter than both of us put together."

"And more observant, at least about this."

Greg looked up as the server came to their table bearing a bottle. "We're starting the evening with a fine Prosecco," she said, uncorking the bottle and giving Mycroft the first sample for hs approval. "I'll be back out in a few moments with the appetizer -- crostini with goat cheese and sage, and some fig preserves. The main course will be whole sea bass, roasted in a salt shell, then served with a lemon-caper sauce. We have a very respectable Malvasia to accompany." Mycroft took the glass and tasted, nodding his approval.

"Sounds good," Greg said, curious and enthusiastic, not solely because he was really hungry.

"For the veg, we have balsamic potatoes with thyme, accented with arugula, and a salad of fennel with orange and slivers of roasted almonds. Dessert is a very light and quite tasty pomegranate gelato with a drizzle of passionfruit sauce, made here by our chef this afternoon."

She poured glasses for both of them and left to bring them the first course. Mycroft raised his glass. "It does sound quite good." He smiled at Greg. "To a delicious evening."

Greg touched his glass to Mycroft's. "To what could come after dessert."

"Very forward-thinking," Mycroft said, sipping at the wine. There was a hint of a blush on his cheeks that Greg found quite compelling.

The food was excellent, but Greg thought the company was better. They avoided talking too much about work and Sherlock. Instead, they both hesitantly addressed the idea of beginning a more intimate relationship. Both of them had wanted more than their friendly but still relatively formal acquaintance, but neither had quite believed the other would be interested. "It seemed rather too much to ask," Mycroft said, sampling the sweet-tart gelato at the end of the meal. "Tolerating my brother was already more than anyone should ask of a friend, really. No one had done more for him than you before Doctor Watson appeared, Greg."

Greg shrugged, happy with the food and feeling slightly elated. He was vaguely tipsy from the wine and the conversation. "If tolerating him was what introduced me to you, it was more than worth it. I'm just sorry it took Christina's intervention to get us talking about the idea. Glad she pushed, but still."

"I do still rather object to the idea of her doing this on Valentine's Day. It was a bit excessive." Mycroft sighed and set down his dessert spoon, the gelato now only a delectable memory.

"Would have really been a disaster if she'd been wrong," Greg agreed.

"Thankfully, she wasn't." Mycroft's head tilted and he regarded Greg silently for a moment. "I should very much like to bring you home with me this evening, if I may," he said, quiet but certain.

Greg nodded. "I'd like that, a lot. Tomorrow's Thursday, though, and I do have to work in the morning." He could see the beginning of disappointment in Mycroft's eyes, but continued before Mycroft could say anything. "I'm not saying no, I'm just saying I'm really going to regret having to get up early to leave you after all this. Would really have preferred this on a Friday night, you know?"

The tension around Mycroft's eyes eased as the server brought their after dinner cups of espresso. "I'd like the check," Mycroft said, taking the tiny cup in hand.

The server shook her head. "No need, sir. The evening was taken care of when it was booked."

Both of them looked up at her. "What, really?" Greg asked, the cup halfway to his lips.

"This was entirely beyond her remit," Mycroft said, halfway between amused and astonished. 

"The lady who booked for you was quite insistent." She grinned. "Said it was for a good cause. It's been a delight serving you gentlemen tonight. Let me get your coats."

Greg and Mycroft thanked her and offered a large tip and their complements to the chef as they left the intimate warmth of the tiny space for the colder, much darker street. One of Mycroft's ubiquitous black cars awaited them. Greg lived close enough to a tube station that he didn't usually drive in the city, so he didn't have his car to worry about tonight. His destination for the evening was unexpected, but he found that his sense of elation remained as they tucked themselves into the spacious back seat of Mycroft's car.

They sat close. Greg was tempted to lean in for a kiss, but the idea felt awkward with the driver in the seat in front of them. While there was a privacy screen, Greg wasn't too comfortable with potential witnesses, and he didn't think Mycroft would be either. Instead, he slid his hand over along the seat and cautiously twined his fingers with Mycroft's.

Mycroft tightened his fingers slightly around Greg's as they sat there, hand in hand. "Soon," he said quietly. "Though I appreciate your discretion."

"Thought you might."

Mycroft looked at Greg under the flickering lights of the streets outside the windows. "Thank you for choosing to accompany me, despite the hour we'll both have to rise in the morning."

Greg's chest tightened with affection and he smiled. "Thanks for giving me the chance. It's not one I really ever imagined having."

"Nor I. I've spent my life largely alone as much by force of circumstance as from natural inclination. I will admit I hadn't considered _wanting_ to spend time with anyone for personal reasons before I met you. After, well," Mycroft hesitated for a moment. "Your marriage, your work with my brother, our relative positions, they all argued against any actual opportunity."

"That's true," Greg said, with a nod. "Things have changed a lot since we first met. Some of those changes have been a bit rough, but we're here now. I'd really like to see where we might go together."

Mycroft smiled at him. His genuine smiles were rare but there had been several over dinner, which had pleased Greg immensely. "I do have a few ideas for that," Mycroft purred. The sound of him being deliberately sexy was more than a little overwhelming, and Greg's breath caught.

"Good god, how much longer to your flat?" Greg whispered.

Mycroft chuckled. "Perhaps another ten minutes, depending upon traffic."

"I may explode first." Greg's heart was fluttering like a hummingbird.

"Nonsense," Mycroft said, his eyes practically undressing Greg right there. "I'm certain you have _exquisite_ self-control." Greg bit back a whimper. He could imagine entirely too many ways to take that comment. Mycroft leaned closer and whispered in his ear, "Yes, my dear, you may interpret that in any way you wish."

Greg closed his eyes and swallowed hard, knowing he was pretty much doomed. "So tell me about these ideas of yours," he said, his voice rough with arousal. He opened his eyes again and met Mycroft's intense, assessing gaze.

"Shall I have a thousand and one nights for my tales?" Mycroft asked, suddenly hesitant.

Greg's heart detonated with surprise and longing and affection and he felt himself utterly melt. The thought of Mycroft wanting _years_ \-- it was stunning. "As many nights as you want," he swore, well and truly lost before he'd even kissed the man.

Mycroft's face and his whole posture radiated relief and happiness at Greg's answer and Greg basked in that sensation, astonished that he'd been the spark for this. Mycroft's voice was soft now, quiet inside the moving vehicle. "You have been the source of any number of wistful fantasies over the years," he admitted. "While I never allowed myself to hope you might be amenable, it was impossible not to think of you far too often. A private indulgence in the midst of a soulless committee meeting or an exceedingly late night of paperwork."

Greg would have spoken, but the car arrived at Mycroft's building and dropped them off at his door. Greg tugged his coat around him more tightly to ward off the wind and the chill as they crossed the pavement, and he waited for Mycroft to unlock the door.

Once inside, there was an entryway with security and a lift up to Mycroft's flat. Anxiety thrummed beneath Greg's skin with the anticipation. Behind Mycroft's door, they stood for a moment just looking at one another. Mycroft broke the tension, reaching for Greg before either of them had their coats off, and they wrapped their arms about one another, kissing with an almost desperate hunger.

Breathless, they parted. "That -- that was good," Greg panted.

Mycroft nodded. "Quite." He removed his coat quickly and Greg followed suit. They tucked them away in the cloak room and Greg followed Mycroft further into the flat. Mycroft ignored everything around them, leading Greg immediately to his bedroom, closing the door behind them. He turned on the lights and dimmed them, then turned to Greg again, taking him in his arms, laying kisses down Greg's neck, open-mouthed and hot. Greg leaned his head back and a soft moan escaped his throat.

"Why the hell did we wait so long?" Greg muttered, clinging to Mycroft, their bodies pressed close in the warmth of the quiet bedroom. He turned his face to Mycroft and kissed him, savoring the wet slip of their lips and tongues as Mycroft edged them toward the bed.

"Pure idiocy," Mycroft said, panting; he dragged Greg down onto the bed with him. "Clothes. You're wearing far too many."

Greg snorted. "Says the bloke in a jacket and a waistcoat." He straddled Mycroft's hips, loving the feel of the man between his thighs.

"Which simply means that I recognize the concept when I see it." Mycroft's fingers deftly dealt with Greg's buttons, making short work of opening his shirt as Greg fumbled with the tinier buttons of Mycroft's waistcoat. "I am really in _desperate_ need of your skin against mine," he continued, his voice urgent and rough with desire.

Greg bit his lip and drew a sharp breath, his attempt to get into Mycroft's clothing becoming as ragged as his breathing. He'd not felt so clumsy about something like this in years, but hearing Mycroft losing that iron control Greg had always seen was affecting him through to his bones. "Yes," he hissed, finally getting the buttons open as Mycroft started pushing Greg's shirt back over his shoulders. Skin, god, and hair on Mycroft's chest. Greg ran his palms up Mycroft's body from his waist to his throat, just savoring the changing textures of smooth skin and fine hair, the heat of him, the small, dark rise of his nipples.

Mycroft groaned and reached up, cupping the back of Greg's neck and pulling him down on top of him. Greg went willingly, wrapping his arms around Mycroft and tucking his hands up over the top of his shoulders. "Greg," Mycroft growled, and kissed him frantically. Mycroft's chest was warm and rough against Greg's and when they writhed together, legs tangling, Greg knew he wasn't even going to get all his clothes off before he came.

Mycroft was apparently arriving at the same conclusion, his hands scrabbling down to Greg's waist to reach into his trousers and grab his arse. He pulled them together and rocked up against Greg, intense and ecstatic, then slid his hands away and started for Greg's fly. Mycroft looked at him, his eyes half closed with pleasure. "In the drawer on the right," Mycroft said. Greg reached out for the bedside table, and Mycroft said, " _My_ right, Gregory."

Greg laughed -- a short, sharp sound -- and leaned over to the other side of the bed, tugging the drawer open and fishing around for a moment with one hand, groping blindly, before he met with a small plastic bottle. "Got it."

Mycroft had got both their trousers open and Greg wasn't even going to try to figure out how the man had done it so quickly. He snatched the bottle from Greg's hand, flipped it open with the end of one thumb, then squeezed out a rather generous measure into Greg's hand. Greg hadn't a scrap of resistance left and just slathered it on both of them, wrapping himself around Mycroft's body, thrusting into the now-slick space between them, their cocks rubbing together in a way that made him _need_ more. They moved together, bodies perfectly intertwined, a tangle of limbs and arms and gasps and half-opened clothing that would have been more appropriate for a couple of hormonal teens than two middle-aged blokes in suits. Not that Greg gave a fig for any sort of 'impropriety' when he could have this.

The end came sharp and fast, in a blast of bliss that left him shuddering, and Mycroft followed shortly after. They lay together, their breath rough as overworked steam engines, and they kissed as though the world were ending and they wanted to breathe their last into each other's mouths. It was overwhelming; the emotions Greg felt were so strong as to be almost unidentifiable, but he knew he wanted more. 

Slowly, their bodies calmed and Mycroft looked into his eyes, stroking Greg's cheek with his fingertips. "So much for 'control.'"

"Next time," Greg said, nodding.

Mycroft regarded him for a moment and said, "I don't do _casual_ , Greg. My life is far too regimented and risky for random one night stands, particularly not with people I'm acquainted with. I know what I said earlier, about having a thousand and one nights, but I ... " He stopped and took a deep breath. "If you are not interested in forging a permanent arrangement, tell me now. As it is, I don't want to let you go. I don't believe I could have this and then go back to some semblance of business as usual if this was all you wanted. I realize this is much too fast--"

"Mycroft, stop." Greg laid a gentle fingertip over Mycroft's lips, his heart swelling with something stronger than mere affection. "I get it. I do. You're not alone, okay? I don't want casual, either. I'm lying here in sloppy clothes and soppy feelings and I don't want to lose it or let it go. I want to wake up next to you tomorrow morning knowing that there will be more nights, and more mornings after. I don't _like_ having nobody to look forward to, nobody to look after, nobody to talk to. I don't much care for one-nighters either but, since the divorce, nobody's ever got under my skin like you have. Nobody's ever… You, Mycroft. You're what I want, okay?"

Mycroft's face relaxed into a small but very genuine smile and he sighed, pulling Greg close again. "As to the sloppy clothing, I believe something can be arranged. I have a terrible suspicion that a certain Personal Assistant would be delighted to fetch something clean for you."

"Probably breakfast, too, unless I miss my guess." Greg grinned and held on tight. 

"Come back on the weekend," Mycroft said. "I know we have to work in the morning, but the weekend?"

"All weekend. Every weekend, if you want them. I'm yours." He looked into Mycroft's eyes. "All yours."

The look on Mycroft's face was one Greg would never forget. "Mine," he whispered. 

"Yeah."

~~end~~


End file.
